


sugarfree

by TypicalRockstar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dumb boys throwing around money like confetti, Kind of Rough Sex, Love Language: Gifts, M/M, No actual sugaring but lots of mentions of sugaring, Romcom esque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypicalRockstar/pseuds/TypicalRockstar
Summary: The funny thing is, most people who see Kyle and Willy together would assume that Willy is probably the sugar baby here.Kyle’ssugar baby. Given they aren’t recognized first, but all of that aside, it’s pretty clear who would fit which role here.Except, perhaps not.(Or, Kyle Dubas realizes he is accidentally, maybe, kind of —technically— a sugar baby, and he doesn't quite know what to do with this information)





	sugarfree

The funny thing is, most people who see Kyle and Willy together would assume that Willy is probably the sugar baby here. _ Kyle’s _ sugar baby. Given they aren’t recognized first, but all of that aside, it’s pretty clear who would fit which role here. Even if Kyle doesn’t look like a dying, grey old man — not yet, anyway, as Willy likes to joke — he’s got the aura about him. Or, as Willy tends to call it, the Daddy Factor.

“It’s probably the GM thing. Like the whole businessman schtick,” Willy says, thoughtfully, after staring at Kyle longer than any normal person would.

“Probably,” Kyle agrees easily. Whether he actually agrees or not is neither here nor there, but Willy doesn’t even take pause. Kyle knows well enough when to feed the responses Willy wants to hear.

“Or maybe it’s your arms,” Willy hums, staring at those now. “They’re pretty fucking huge.”

“Thanks?” Kyle raises a brow. “I think?”

“You’re absolutely welcome,” Willy says, doesn't miss a beat. He must finally get distracted then, because his eyes flicker from scrutinizing every inch of Kyle, straight to his plate instead. Well, Kyle figures he was pretty done with his potatoes anyway.

“Are you done with your potatoes?” Willy asks then, just as predicted. Kyle doesn’t even say a word, just picks up his plates and pushes the rest of his potatoes onto Willy’s plate.

“Thanks, you’re the best, babe,” is what he gets in return, matched with a smile. Kyle takes it for what it is and goes back to his steak, content to let Willy continue to jabber on about potatoes, and then this or that. He listens like he’s supposed to, hums when appropriate. Willy orders another bottle of wine when he finishes the first, switches to something sweet that pairs well with ice cream. Kyle doesn’t complain, happy to compliantly sip his Moscato and steal bites of Willy’s sundae. It’s a good, harmonious, even.

No matter how many times they do this, and no matter how little the result changes, Kyle goes for the bill when it comes. Willy rolls his eyes, as he always does, and snatches it right out of his hands, zero tact. He even laughs a little, like this is a funny little game, when he digs for his wallet and slides his credit card into the check folder.

“Why do you keep trying?” Willy breaks routine, asks him this time. He’s grinning, like he’s waiting for the punchline of a good joke. 

It’s Kyle’s turn to roll his eyes this time, and he huffs, too. Light and amused, but pressed enough to be at least a little genuine. “I _ can _ pay sometimes, you know. I’m perfectly capable.”

Willy really laughs then, not meanly but perhaps endeared. It’s bright, and Kyle can’t find it in him to be anything but fond, even now. 

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Willy says, the full force of his smile and the twinkle in his eyes on Kyle alone. “Thanks for the money, but you can let me take care of it.”

The _ take care of you _ is unsaid but it clicks, then, in Kyle’s head and perhaps lingers a little bit longer than it should.

Oh.

~

Kyle prides himself in being self-made. In working hard to get where he is, working his way up and earning it himself. This is his seat at the table, fought for with his very own blood, sweat, and tears. This is the fruit of his life’s labor. 

So perhaps his latest lightbulb moment has been a little… perplexing?

There’s nothing wrong with Willy wanting to pick up the bill, or order the Uber, or pay for the movie, or—

Okay, maybe Kyle’s been a little up in his head about it. Willy makes significantly more money than him, sure, but that doesn’t mean that Kyle can put in his share sometimes. He has money, too, even if it’s nothing comparable to Willy’s. He’s more than capable, here.

It’s not really a problem, but apparently it’s enough of something to think about. 

~

It’s a totally off-handed comment with no ulterior motive. No intention whatsoever. Seriously, there is no purpose other than observation, and Kyle will insist on it with his dying breath.

There is no motive, but there is a William Nylander alongside him, and honestly Kyle should’ve known better. 

The thing is, it really _ is _ a nice watch. It’s got all the features Kyle wants, all the high-tech smart watch stuff, top of the line. But it still looks classic and traditional and just the right amount of flashiness to tastefully flex. 

It’s his dream watch, basically, so maybe he isn’t focusing on the implications and the consequences when he’s clearly enthralled enough to voice it without thinking. 

Willy doesn’t even really say anything in reply, and if Kyle didn’t know him better, he’d sound like he wasn’t even paying attention. So Kyle still doesn’t realize what’s done just yet. 

They move on without buying it, without even flagging down a sales associate. Kyle forgets about it within minutes. They continue through the mall, continue to window shop and peruse a few stores before their movie starts. Kyle doesn’t think about the watch again that night, nor any night or any time after.

Kyle doesn’t think about the watch at all until one day, there it is, beautifully wrapped up in a little black box, shining up at him like the offering it is.

They’ve literally just finished fucking maybe five minutes ago, exactly enough time for Kyle to tie off the condom, clean the both of them up in a haphazard wipedown, and slip back into bed and under the covers.

But there’s the box, already waiting for him when he settles back in.

And behind it is Willy, of course, grinning all giddy and proud of himself. Kyle carefully takes it out of the box, looks it over about ten times to be absolutely certain what it is. Willy helps him take off his other one, helps him put the new one on. It fits perfectly, the band clearly custom fit to his measurements. 

Kyle smiles as he admires the way it looks on his wrist, can’t help himself. He carries the smile until he’s looking at Willy, directing it at him. Smiles even as he leans in, even as he kisses him, soft and sweet.

“Thank you, baby,” Kyle says, quiet against Willy’s lips. 

Willy is blushing then, cheeks flushed and ears bright red. “Anything for you,” Willy says, sincere. “I love you.”

Kyle’s heart beats in his chest, in tempo with the way he kisses Willy again and again. 

“I love you, too.”

~

He loves his new watch, he can’t lie. He even said so, right there in the mall, that he loved _ that _ watch, and Willy just so happened to buy the particular one he already loved. And then proceeded to give it to him as a gift. Without a particular reason, just because. 

People _ do _ that, it’s not like it’s a weird thing. It’s _ a _ thing! Really. It is. A one hundred percent normal, regular, absolutely sugar-free couple thing. 

Kyle keeps telling himself that, anyway.

~

It's a few weeks later, because Kyle’s not trying to be obvious. Obviously.

It’s not on purpose. Like. It’s not that Kyle is actively looking for something to give to Willy. But if he _ conveniently _ overheard him and Auston fawning over the latest Gucci drop? If he just _ happened _ to pick up that Willy’s really into some tee shirt, the one with the roses? 

Look, it’s just a tee shirt.

(A fucking _ four hundred plus dollar _ tee shirt, but still! A tee shirt!)

He special orders it to the flagship store on Bloor. He gets a call the day it comes in, tells them he wants it wrapped nicely, the full treatment. Willy agrees to meet him at the Four Seasons for lunch, doesn’t think much of it other than to wax on about how he likes the au gratin there. Kyle makes a mental note to order his chicken with au gratin so he can give it to Willy, but that’s a thought for later. 

So Kyle swings by the shop early enough for them to run out and deliver the little gift bag curbside. Willy texts him that he’s already there while Kyle’s pulling away. He doesn’t keep him waiting for long, quickly drives around the corner and valets his car. See, he has more than enough of his own earnings to play this game, too. He _ does. _

Again, as he tells himself. 

“What’s that?” Willy says the second he spots him. He’s looking at the gift bag, curious, and really Kyle should have expected as much. 

Kyle grins wide, can’t hold it in. “It’s for you.”

“Oh,” Willy says, like he didn’t consider that option. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Kyle rolls his eyes, drops the bag in Willy’s lap. “Open it.”

Willy keeps looking at it, intrigued. “Right now? 

“Yes, right now,” Kyle laughs, kicks him lightly under the table. “Come on, before they bring out the bread basket.”

Willy does laugh, then. “Okay, okay. Before the bread. Of course.”

He peers into the bag, pushes aside the tissue paper carefully. His eyes widen when he catches a first glance, his jaw nearly drops when he pulls the fabric out of the bag completely.

“You didn’t,” Willy says, more to himself. He holds the shirt by the sleeves and lets it unfold so he can see it properly. “Kyle, this literally came out like two days ago, tops.”

“I know,” Kyle hums, smug.

“How did you…?” Willy trails off, too preoccupied with tracing over the embroidered roses to finish his thought. “I really wanted this one.”

“Good,” Kyle says, content to watch Willy’s reactions play out. “I hoped you did.”

“I can’t accept this,” Willy finally says, head snapping up to look right at Kyle, dead-on. “It’s like, four hundred dollars. I can’t let you.”

Kyle shrugs. “You can accept it, because I wanted to get it for you.”

“This is too much,” Willy keeps trying, but Kyle tuts, shakes his head.

“Please? I wanted to get it for you,” Kyle says, gently. “Really, I did.”

Willy doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he reluctantly stops trying to refuse the gift. He folds the shirt back up and carefully replaces it in the bag. Only then does he look at Kyle again, a little hint of a smile and the corners of his lips.

“Well, I’m not sure what’s come over you,” Willy says, slowly. “But if you’re sure—”

“I’m sure.”

“—then seriously, thank you. I’m really happy you picked it out for me.” He smiles then, in full, for real. “Love you, babe.”

Kyle matches it, leans across the table to kiss him quick and chaste. “I love you, too.”

~

But you see, while Kyle had believed he was settling some kind of secret score, he was, in fact, incredibly incorrect.

Because it gets worse.

~

Maybe Kyle starts to overcompensate from then on. Maybe he insists on the bill a little too aggressively, maybe he forgets to inconspicuously space out his little gifts from that moment on. 

But what is definitely _ not _ a maybe is how aggressively Willy returns such behavior. 

It’s maybe the strangest “problem” Kyle’s ever had.

It’s pasta thursday, just like every thursday for the past forever that they’ve been together. If they’re in the same city and time allows, Kyle makes pasta dough from scratch in advance. Then Willy rolls it out through the fancy little pasta roller that lives on Kyle’s counter while Kyle simmers fresh tomatoes into a sauce. It’s their routine, it’s their _ thing. _

But somehow it’s thursday night — dough waiting in the fridge, apron already on — when he gets an iMessage from Willy. At first it’s just a location pin, dropped right around Queen and Yonge. No caption.

Kyle’s about to send a string of question marks when Will’s typing bubble appears. Okay, none of that, Kyle will get straight to the bottom of this.

“Hey Siri,” he says, maybe a little too aggressively. “Call Willy.”

_ “Calling blue heart Willy blue heart face throwing a kiss,” _ Siri says, incriminating.

Kyle doesn’t have time to reflect on his contact name choices for very long, though, because Willy picks up on the first ring. _ “Hey, so I have a reservation in an hour at the place I just sent you. Apparently the shrimp scampi is dope.” _

It takes a second, because Kyle blinks while he tries to process what Willy’s saying. So instead of all the things he can say, he frowns and says, “But it’s pasta thursday.”

There’s a little bit of shuffling on the other end. _ “Shrimp scampi is pasta.” _

“But,” Kyle pushes, still confused. “It’s _ our _ pasta thursday?”

_ “Oh,” _ Willy sounds a little unsure for the first time on this call. _ “I just? I thought it would be cool to take you somewhere nice this time?” _

Kyle tries to make sense of what Willy’s saying, and subsequently doesn’t say anything for a second. It’s not on purpose, but that’s when Willy starts to backtrack.

_ “I didn’t think this through, I just thought—” _

“No, it’s fine,” Kyle interrupts him, finally catching up. “I just, didn’t realize you’d want to do that? But if that’s what you want to do tonight I’m down.”

_ “If you don’t want to—” _

“No, really,” Kyle says, more sure now, He wedges his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can use both hands to start untying his apron. “You made a reservation, right? Then I want to try this scampi.”

Kyle feels a little bad for the way he can practically hear Willy relax on the other end of the phone._ “Perfect, and don’t worry about bringing a wallet. They’ll charge it to my account.” _

“Willy—” Kyle steps in, then, because here he is again, everything starting to click.

_ “I mean it,” _Willy cuts him off, “my treat, babe. I want to treat you.”

Kyle’s a little grateful that Willy can’t see his face right now, because he doesn’t mean to frown, but he does on reflex, anyway. He’d been doing so good at weighing them back out. But if Willy’s insisting, he won’t make this a big deal. Fine, he can treat him if he really wants. 

“Okay,” Kyle finally acquiesces. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

_ “Great,” _ and the grin is audible in Willy’s voice, obviously pleased. _ “See you soon.” _

~

Willy is right. The scampi _is_ good, like really good. So Kyle can’t really be that mad about it. It’s easy to loosen up at dinner, to indulge and keep the wine flowing. Besides, it’s just the two of them at the end of the day, and that’s more than enough to lift Kyle’s spirits in any situation, any at all. 

Even the one where he’s letting a twenty-three year old, _his_ twenty-three year old, pick up a ridiculously expensive dinner tab yet again.

But that's an issue to dwell on later. 

“Wanna come over?” Kyle asks, low and suggestive, while they retrieve their coats. 

Willy’s on his phone, but he pauses to look at Kyle, just a hint of naughty. “Sure.”

“I’ll call the Uber,” Kyle makes for his phone, just barely starts to unlock it before Willy interrupts. He’s holding his own phone up so Kyle can see the screen.

“Already ordered,” Willy hums. “George should be here in three minutes.”

Kyle blinks at him, flickers between Willy and the phone in his hand. Well, it’s already ordered, nothing he can do now. So he shrugs, doesn’t say anything of it. Lets George ask “William?” when they slide into his back seat, watches quietly while Willy chooses the custom tip option and leave a number twice the amount of the fare itself. 

He makes a mental note to say something about splitting with him later. Paypal, maybe. Something like that. Once they’re out of the car and alone again, he’ll say something.

~

Except, the minute that they’re alone, Willy’s on him, unrelenting and desperate and— fuck, okay, Kyle is only a human with a very attractive boyfriend that happens to be all over him right now. Priorities maybe get shuffled. Go ahead and blame him, he doesn’t even care, not with the way Willy’s grinding into his thigh like this. 

“Fuck,” Kyle gasps into Willy’s mouth, clumsily hitting the elevator button and just barely managing to scan his key fob to unlock it. 

“Mm,” Willy hums, hits the close-button again and again until it starts to close. “That’s the idea here.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Kyle whispers, hand tangled in Willy’s hair so he can pull him in and kiss him harder. 

The doors open and deposit them in Kyle’s foyer, then, and Willy doesn’t waste time in pushing him out of the elevator. He grabs his hand and very much tugs him down the hall and straight to the bedroom, insistent. 

“Kyle,” Willy says low, finally lets go of him in favor of flinging himself onto the bed. “I want you to fuck the hell out of me.”

Kyle’s already moving, fingers unknotting his tie and toeing off his shoes at the same time. Willy mirrors him, frantically pulling his clothes off without much care. He barely spares a glance to mourn a button that pops off the collar of his shirt. Kyle isn’t concerned, either, Willy will pay someone to sew it back on by morning if he so pleases. For now, he focuses on getting the rest of his own clothes off.

He crawls onto the bed, right over Willy. Pushes him into the mattress, lets his weight cover Willy completely. They make out like that for a bit, Kyle grinding their bare erections together. It’s easy to take Willy apart. It’s easy to get him to melt under him, easy to get him looking up at him all wide-eyed and hungry. 

It’s easy to slip a couple fingers inside him, and way, way too easy to milk out sweet little cries and wanton little moans when he stretches him open, fucks him with his fingers. Kyle makes sure to keep kissing him, just the way Willy likes. Trails the kisses gradually away from his mouth, traces his jawline, sucks at the junction just below his ear. He moves to Willy’s neck when he adds in a third finger, sucks gentle almost-hickeys into the skin over his pulsepoint, just to savor the sounds he makes.

“Come on Ky, fuck,” Willy groans, cutting into a full groan when Kyle strategically pushes against his prostate. “Come on, I need it, I need it, I need—”

“Shh,” Kyle hushes him, right in his ear, before he bites at the lobe, just a little. “Let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you like this.”

Willy whimpers then, but he nods, his ability to form words seemingly lost. 

Kyle keeps his promise, carefully withdraws his fingers and kisses Willy through it, kisses him through the empty feeling, the loss. He’s a well-practice guy, but he puts in the extra effort to keep Willy’s mouth occupied with his tongue while he rolls on the condom, while he lubes up, while he presses his cockhead against Willy’s little hole and rubs it there, not quite going in just yet.

Willy’s whimpering, even through the kisses, and manages to break free only by turning his head to the side, into the pillow. “Stop teasing me, please just fuck me now, _ please,” _ Willy begs so beautifully, desperate. Kyle can feel his hole clenching from under his cock, so eager to take him in.

“Tell me you want me to take care of you,” Kyle says before he knows what he’s saying.

Before he can process it himself, Willy’s crying out, like the thought of such words themselves are enough to do something for him. “God, Kyle, please. I want you to take care of me. I _ trust _ you to take care of me.” He breathes out, audible, through his nose. “With you dick,” an added clarification, just in case, of course.

Kyle laughs a little, light. But he replies by kissing Willy close mouthed, paradoxically chaste, as he pushes the head in, Willy cheeks spread with one hand and guided into Willy’s hole with his thumb.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Willy moans, filthy, into Kyle’s chest. “Don’t be gentle. I want it. Give it to me, baby, fuck me, come on.”

Kyle gets a hand in Willy’s hair, yanks his head back so he can slot his mouth more comfortably against his neck. “Yeah?” He says right against Willy’s wet skin. He can feel Willy’s full-body shiver as he does. “I can give it to you if that’s what you really want. I won’t be nice, I’ll fuck you so fucking hard, and you’ll just have to take it. Is that what you want, baby?”

Willy nods, vigorous, despite Kyle at his neck. He leans up into the feeling of Kyle’s cock inside of him, pushes his neck harder against Kyle’s mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Kyle pulls his mouth away, brushes the hair out of Willy’s face. “Whatever you want, love, I got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Kyle keeps his promise. He gets both hands on Willy’s hips, nudges his knees out of the way until he’s spreading himself wide and open just for Kyle. He checks Willy’s face one more time, but all that’s waiting for him is Willy’s pleading eyes, staring up at him through his lashes. Absolutely ready to devour him. 

Willy nods once, just a little, but Kyle takes it as the cue it is.

He fucks into Willy hard, just like he asked. Pulls out until it’s just the head and then slams back in, savoring the sound of their skin slapping together, cutting through the rest of the whitenoise in the room. Willy cries out, high and whiny, in a string following. Kyle continues to piston into him, continues to watch his face; watch as his eyes screw close, head thrown back as he loses himself in it.

“So fucking big,” Willy manages, loud and dirty, “fill me up, pleasepleaseplease—”

“I got you,” Kyle leans back down, kisses Willy’s forehead in tender contrast. He fucks into him just as hard, if not harder, starts to angle himself to coax out Willy’s pleasure. Willy cries out again, then, nearly thrashes off the bed. But Kyle holds him in place, Kyle keeps him right where he wants him, right on his cock.

“Come on, darling, come for me, let me get you there. Lemme fuck it out of you, baby.” Kyle’s hand hovers just left of Willy’s leaking cock, ready to go in if that’s what Willy asks of him. But Willy doesn’t ask, so he waits, patient, carefully watches Willy’s expressions.

“I wanna come, I wanna come,” Willy practically sobs. “I wanna come on your cock, I wanna.”

Ah, fuck. Kyle moves his hand away then, but doesn’t waste it. He gets it on Willy’s shoulder, brushes his thumb over Willy’s throat just once, then back to gripping him tight just above his collarbone. He uses the leverage to shove himself deeper and harder, harder and deeper. He watches where they meet, mostly to make sure the angle is right, but to see where he slides against Willy, where he enters him, where Willy’s pink little hole is clinging so desperately around his cock.

“Come on, love, you can come on my cock, I know you can. You’re a good boy, you said I can take care of you, yeah? So let me, love, let me.”

It’s only a couple more thrusts, right over Willy’s prostate, before he’s coming unannounced, and more importantly, untouched. He clenches tight, tight, tight around Kyle’s cock, squeezing him deliciously tight. It’s enough for a feeling and an image — pink rim swallowing him at the root — to push Kyle over, too, spilling hot inside of him.

Kyle takes a minute to catch his breath, still panting over Willy’s body, pressed under his full weight. He whimpers, twitches a little when Kyle carefully slides out. Kyle leans between his leans, kisses against his hole, quick and quiet. He knows that Willy’s too sensitive to be eaten out, but a little thank you is always in order. Especially when he feels Willy involuntarily spasm against his lips, whining high. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Kyle says, breathy, but perhaps not very sorry at all. He ties off the condom while he kisses Willy’s thigh instead. “I’m going to grab a towel, okay? Hang tight, love.”

Willy protests a little, but Kyle ignores it in favor of acting quickly. He tosses the condom and runs the tap until just warm enough, not keen on wasting more time. He runs a washcloth under it and rings it out, returns to bed with it so he can start wiping down Willy, who immediately reaches out and clings to him, nevermind the cleanup.

Kyle navigates him well enough, lets Willy hang off of him while still effectively scrubbing him down. He drops the washcloth on the ground when he’s satisfied, focus shifting completely to collecting Willy now.

“Kyle, Kyle,” is all Willy manages to murmur, exhausted. Kyle scootches him out of the wet spot, manages to kick some blankets around. He holds Willy closer, tangles their legs together. He gets a hand on his neck, just barely reaching into his hair, and uses it to pull Willy into his chest, into his embrace. He holds him just like that, kisses the top of his head and savors every last feeling of it.

~

It’s only maybe half an hour tops before Willy begins to stir, wriggling out of Kyle’s hold.

“Huh?” Kyle blinks out of his sleepy haze, barely processing what’s happening. “No, stay,” is all that manages to leave his mouth.

But Willy turns, kisses him on the lips a little bit more competently than Kyle think he’s currently capable of. “I’m not leaving, but. I have something, just wait, okay?”

Kyle blinks, watches but doesn’t move to stop him, not quite awake enough to understand.

Willy acrobats himself out of bed, rolling around and what not until he somehow ends up with his feet on the carpet. Kyle tries not to be too smug when he sees his legs wobble just before he catches himself. That’s definitely his handiwork. 

But then Willy’s going through his clothes, shuffling through the inside pockets of his suit jacket before he finds what he’s looking for. Kyle can’t see what it is, at first. Not until Willy’s climbing back into bed and holding out the item to him.

It’s a little black box, too short one way and too long the other for a ring. It’s sleek black leather, trimmed in gold. Kyle is suddenly a lot more awake, a lot more wide-eyed, and a hell of a lot more disbelieving. 

“Willy,” he starts, slow, “what’s in your hand, and also why is it there.”

Willy shrugs, tries to hold back a smile, but it’s too obviously spilling onto his face. “It’s for you.”

“I can’t,” Kyle says, right away without thinking. He sits on his hands, even.

But Willy frowns, then. “Why not? I got them for you.”

“I…” Kyle tries, but stops. He sighs, opens his mouth again, looks Willy in the eye this time. “You don’t have to buy me things, you know that right?”

Willy blinks at him, clearly confused, for a good moment, a lengthy one. But then suddenly he’s kissing him, and Kyle is too shocked to protest when he grabs his hands and forces him to wrap his fingers around the little box. 

“Kyle,” Willy says, not quite scolding, but somewhere near. “I know I don’t _ have _ to buy you things. But I want to. I _ like _ to. It makes me happy when I see something and it reminds me of you and I can just buy it. It’s like, special.”

And that’s when Kyle starts to understand. The gears turning in his head apparently show on his face, because Willy starts to smile again, just a little, soft and sweet like he doesn’t even notice it on himself. 

He turns the box over in his hands a couple of times. He almost thumbs it open, but something stops him. He looks at Willy one more time. “You’re sure?”

“Please,” Willy says, nearly identical to the ones he’d whined out just moments earlier. “I love picking things out for you,” he reiterates, ready to convince him.

Kyle is still a little hesitant, but Willy looks like he’ll cry if Kyle doesn’t accept his present, so he nods, absently bites his lip when he flicks it open with his thumb.

It’s a pair of cufflinks, a light blue gem set in silver. The Tom Ford logo is neatly printed in gold on the lid, but Kyle tries not to think about that part. The gem is translucent enough to see what’s etched beneath it. A _ “W” _ on the left one, a _ “K” _ on the right. His breath catches, and he almost forgets how to breathe.

He feels a hand on his arm, then, and when he looks up, Willy is looking at him, studying his face, staring at him longer than any normal person would. It’s so familiar that Kyle is overwhelmed all over again. 

So he does the only thing he can think of in such a situation. He grabs Willy’s hair and pulls him in, kisses him deep and slow and so fucking passionately he can’t even think straight. 

It’s a while until they break, but enough time for the both of them to have gathered their thoughts. (Because they are, after all, excellent multitaskers.)

Willy speaks first, even as Kyle begins to open his mouth. “I’m sorry if it’s been weird when I pay for stuff,” he says, sincerely. “But I mean it, I like doing it. I don’t mind. And the presents especially. I just like picking them out for you. Because I see things that make me think of you, and I want you to have them. It’s not like,” he pauses, tries to find the word, but huffs when he can’t. “It’s not like, a _ thing. _”

And, despite Willy’s word choice (or lack thereof), Kyle knows exactly what he means. He laughs, takes Willy’s hand in his and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m sorry if I made it into a thing. I didn’t want you to feel obligated, and I might have turned it into a thing.”

Willy’s still pouting a little, but he does laugh a bit, dry. “Okay so we’re maybe we’re both just dumb and made a not-thing a total thing.”

Kyle shrugs. “Probably, actually. Yeah.” He kisses Willy’s cheek. “I’m okay if you want to pay sometimes, or even most of the time. But I can, too, sometimes. I want to treat you, too.”

“Oh,” Willy makes a face, like he didn’t think of it that way. “Okay, you can pay sometimes, and we can split sometimes, and we can both get each other presents,” he declares, decisive. “Does that work?”

“That’s perfect, that works.” Kyle laughs, squeezes his hand. "But I'd also like to keep pasta thursday."

Willy finally smiles for real, then. "Okay, okay, yeah. Sorry for messing with pasta thursday. Never again." He's sincere, but not totally apologetic. Instead, practically beaming with the problem solved and everything settled. He lets Kyle kiss him some more, lets Kyle pull him back in so they’re properly cuddled again. 

When they break yet again, Willy is the one panting this time. It doesn't stop him from laughing, though, with whatever crosses his mind at that exact moment.

“What?” Kyle scoffs, laughs along for just the sheer ridiculousness of it. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Willy continues between laughter, blinks up at Kyle just a little cheeky even, “I was totally your sugar daddy.”

Kyle goes bright red, and that spurs Willy into an even bigger fit of laughter. “Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Willy genuinely tries to stop himself, but every time he seems to get it under control, it comes back even harder. And to be honest, it’s infectious enough that even Kyle starts to laugh, too. 

Not at the sugar daddy comment, definitely not at that. Totally just because of Willy’s antics. Just that, nothing else.

(Okay, _ fine, _ maybe also a little bit because of the sugar daddy comment.)

“We both know who the real sugar baby is in this relationship,” Kyle tries, even though he knows how half-hearted it sounds, pouty, coming from his mouth.

“Of course, of course,” Willy beams at him, chest rising and falling as he still tries to catch his breath. “Whatever you say,” he winks, “_baby. _”

Kyle groans, but Willy holds him right where he is. He kisses him sweet and, yeah alright. 

Kyle, sugar whatever or not, will take it.

_ (end) _

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at 3am and finished it as the sun rose in the near distance, so I sincerely apologize for typos, which I am sure live here and have evaded my read-over 😅 Also while sussing out what outrageous present Willy could conjure up, I came across [these](https://www.etsy.com/listing/62027124/erotic-cufflinks-erotic-men-jewellery?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_b-accessories-suit_and_tie_accessories-cufflinks_and_tie_tacks-cuff_links&utm_custom1=97faffd0-fe0b-4980-86b0-a70be8d30ad2&utm_content=go_1844702568_68645501174_346363992954_pla-316646168111_c__62027124&gclid=Cj0KCQjwv8nqBRDGARIsAHfR9wD9s5_xC0AlUFoSwOjg-m6LL5uJJ319DC1cVmdBERuLMR1KvPobCncaAkXjEALw_wcB) and almost gave Kyle erotic cufflinks made in the likeness of William Nylander. Almost.
> 
> Please come wax on about Kyle and Willy with me on twitter @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite) because it is apparently my favorite hobby. (If you're not clearly a HRPF account, just shoot me a DM to say you came over from this fic, ty!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤️


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